I typically present one photo at a time, but lately I've been feeling goofball so I decided to create a romantic mash-up of two unsuspecting images. This might even turn into a thing I do every now and again. It was just so delightfully random. I like taking pictures and non sequiturs are fun!—which reminds me about the time I met the sweetest couple in a smoky West Village lounge in NYC. They had been dancing together for over two decades, always on Tuesday, twice a month. They were Crystal and Darshan and they put on a show that made me blush. It went a little something like this.

Crystal whispered into Darshan's ear, "It takes two to tango, ain't that right my deer?" their antlers locked on the parquet floor.

"Ahhh, my dirty goat,” Darshan teased, “Don't forget about the two second rule." With a flourish he disengaged, whipping his ebony mane backwards and sideways, fully embracing his inner stallion.

Crystal kicked her leg high to disco heaven. "Step two-three, slide five-six; and again two-three, sliiide,” her spirit transformed into a metronome on a stiff macchiato, relentlessly dominating the beat.

"Two peas in a mutha-fuckin’ pod," Darshan growled and pulled Crystal effortlessly into his engorged sacral chakra: black, shiny, spandex.

Crystal roared, "Closer than two coats of paint. Do it again, do it again, you beast!" With hardly an effort she tossed a well prepared Darshan halfway across the dance floor, like a rag doll, an absolute display of muscle. With arms crossing his chest, Darshan's torso rotated gracefully in perfect circles, floating in the air, seemingly forever. The onlookers felt the wispy breeze from a confident double lutz and were delighted to hear the exclamation, "Touche my darling!" just as Darshan floated back to earth, his landing—perfect.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in a bush. Magnificent, my dove!" Darshan took a bow as Crystal cooed and performed her crowd pleasing pigeon strut complete with happy flapping wings and a barrage of bonafide twerks.

Darshan, panting in awe, was hypnotized by the butt. 

The house erupted with catcalls and whistles, palms raw from sweaty, enthusiastic claps. A few retreated to the bar, some were jealous, others repulsed, but everyone was secretly hoping for an encore.

But what was I saying? Oh right, follow the yellow brick road; it might take you to a community of animals where the odds are, give or take, 50/50 that you will find someone who loves to tango—just, as much, as you.

⌘